One Potato, Two Potato: Part Three

one potato story

One day, not long before Easter, he trudges in weary from sheep shearing on Edgecumbe’s estate. Of his wife, the is no sign. A broth has boiled dry on its hook, the charred crust at its bottom stinks out the whole croft. The days’ marketing waits, in her basket, abandoned upon the table: limp herbs, three small filmy-eyed mackerel. He finds her sat like a hen among the vines, near enough the spot where her old quince tree used to drop its wormy, wasp-blown fruit. Just sat there, legs stretched out under the collapsed sails of her skirts, fists dug […]